Chapter II

Aboard the _Jupiter_ day and night were artificially simulated. Norman Saint Clair awoke the next morning with a sense of disaster strong in his mind. He rose, stretched, went to the quartzite port. They had picked up their escort during the night.

The Terrestian warship paced the _Jupiter_ silently, grimly. She wasn't half the size of the colossal liner, but her speed he knew to be fabulous, and he could count a hundred gun ports along her starboard side alone. A lean gray wolf of space, he thought. Nothing could stand up against that brutally efficient machine of destruction. Reassured, he began to dress himself carefully.

In the dining saloon he discovered the girl, Jennifer Scott. She was seated at a table having breakfast with a young man to whom Norman took an immediate dislike although it was possible to see only the back of his head. He felt surprised at himself. He wasn't in the habit of making snap judgements like that.

Jennifer saw him, waved gaily, beckoned him to come sit with them. The informality of the Outlanders never ceased to amaze him. They brushed aside conventions like cobwebs.

He said, "Good morning, Miss Scott. I trust yesterday's tragedy didn't disturb your rest too much." There was a touch of resentment in his tone. The girl appeared too buoyant, too vivacious. His own sleep had been wretched.

The girl's blue eyes were bright. She said, "Not too much;" and introduced her companion. "This is Mr. Vermeer. He's an agent of the Venusian Export Lines."

Norman observed Vermeer coolly, saw a black-eyed, black-haired man whose gray coat fit his chunky shoulders too tightly. There was a white scar on his upper lip, another above his right eyebrow. Mr. Vermeer extended his hand without enthusiasm, said, "Sit down, Saint Clair."

Norman eased his lank frame into the chair. "Have they caught the murderer, yet?"

Jennifer shook her head.

"Not likely," observed Vermeer with scorn. "There was a time when it would have been suicide to kill a T.I.S. agent. From Mercury to Pluto Earthmen were known as the scourge of the Universe. But now. Pah! They've grown fat and spoiled. The Empire isn't able to protect its own ships anymore."

Norman fidgeted angrily. "You're an Earthman, yourself," he accused.

"Not I," denied Vermeer. "I'm of Terrestial descent, but I was born on Venus. I'm an Outlander."

A waiter approached, took Norman's order.

Jennifer leaned forward. "Mr. Vermeer, do you believe this murder has any connection with the terror?"

"I wouldn't be surprised. I'd say the T.I.S. agent had stumbled across some information which made it necessary that he be silenced."

Although that was Norman's idea he said perversely, "I think you're making a mountain out of a molehill. The agent was probably on the track of smugglers."

Jennifer opened her blue eyes in surprise. Vermeer shrugged, turned to the girl, said: "They're giving a dance tonight. Would you be my partner?"

The girl hesitated, glanced roguishly at Norman who sat stiff-faced. "Thank you, Mr. Vermeer, but Mr. Saint Clair has already asked me."

Norman's mouth fell open. He had wanted to ask her but had hesitated because he didn't know her well enough. His heart leaped now with pleasure.

Vermeer glanced at Norman sourly, excused himself, left the table.

When he was out of earshot, the girl said, "There's something about that man that doesn't ring true. I hope you don't mind me using you as an excuse, Norman. You don't have to take me."

"Not take you?" he echoed. "Of course, I'm going to take you. You can't very well refuse now." He grinned triumphantly, feeling something of a devil. He rather liked the sensation.

The girl was suddenly serious. "Have you heard the news?"

"News? I haven't heard any news."

"It just came over the radio. The _Comet_ disappeared three days out from Ganymede. She was escorted by a corvette of the Martian Navy, too."

The _Comet_, he knew, was a semi-passenger freighter of Martian register. "But the corvette?" he echoed blankly, feeling suddenly a bit frightened and confused.

"It vanished too." She snapped her fingers. "Just like that. But before they disappeared, they reported three flashes in space dead ahead. Then their signals stopped."

He opened his mouth.

"Wait," said the girl. "You haven't heard it all. The Observatory on Ganymede had them in sight all the time. A short while after the ship's radio messages stopped coming through, they noticed that the _Comet_ was disappearing just as if she were disintegrating. The disintegration started at the stern and slowly worked forward until the ship was completely gone." She shuddered. "When I heard the news coming over the caster it reminded me of an old, old story of a grinning cheshire cat. The cat disappeared tail first until even the grin was gone."

"Alice in Wonderland," said Norman mechanically. "That was written by Lewis Carroll, a famous writer of antiquity."

"What do you think it is?"

He shook his head. "I'm no scientist, Jennifer. It sounds like atomic disintegration."

"But why?"

Again he shook his head. His food, he realized, was growing cold. He began to eat mechanically. He thought that if he ever reached Ganymede, he'd never venture into space again.

The girl said, "Vermeer was right about one thing. The Empire's crumbling. This never could have happened a hundred years ago." She hesitated, then added with a rush, "I wasn't going to tell you because I'm not sure, but Mr. Vermeer's stateroom is next to mine. When I first came aboard and was putting away my things, I noticed a man leave his stateroom. Norman, it wasn't Mr. Vermeer. I think it was that T.I.S. agent who was murdered."

"By Jupiter," ejaculated Norman, "do you think the T.I.S. man could have been making an investigation of this Vermeer?"

She nodded her head, wide-eyed.

"Have you told the Captain?"

"No," said the girl.

"But he should know."

She shook her head. "He'd think I was imagining things. The passengers have been reporting all sorts of nonsense since the murder. If I could only be sure." She bit her lip. "Norman, the dance tonight. He'll be there. We could search his room."

He looked at her aghast. "Search his room? Me? Suppose he walked in on us?"

"We could pretend we'd entered by mistake. My cabin is next door."

He shook his head. "I still think it should be reported to the Captain."

"He'd never believe me."

He glanced at her helplessly. "But...."

Jennifer rose. "I'll meet you at the dance tonight. We'll make sure he's there first."

He nodded unhappily. When the girl had left he pushed back his plate, called the waiter. "You can take this away," he said. "I've lost my appetite."